chapter forty-four

I blinked and concentrated on the message from Gutenberg. The automaton was dying, which meant we were running out of time. "Harrison is close by. If Lena and I ride together, we can still catch him."

Nidhi's face was expressionless. She tossed the wadded-up length of blanket to me and climbed back into the car without a word to get the GPS. Nidhi had told me she was struggling to adjust to our new relationship, but this was the first time I had seen that struggle.

"I'm sorry," Lena said quietly, watching Nidhi. "That was stupid. I was worried about you. I saw you fighting off those insects, and then you were moving around in the back seat and the car was out of control. You scared me. You both did."

I grabbed the end of the blanket and began wrapping the rest around my fist. "So go tell her."

Lena studied my eyes, like she was searching to see if I meant it.

"Your girlfriend was just in an accident, and the first thing she saw was you hugging and getting friendly with me."

She stared at me, then smiled. "I chose better than I realized." "I'll meet you at your bike."

Intellectually, I had more-or-less come to terms with our relationship weeks ago. But this was the first time I had been able to walk away from the two of them without feeling those barbs of jealousy and insecurity. I didn't turn around to watch Lena's good-bye—I wasn't certain how stable this newfound peace was

—but it was a start.

Winter whispers his song. Strips her branches,

Abandons her naked before the heavens As souls slumber beneath,

And dirt becomes stone.

Spring celebrates the tandava,

And the newborn feels only the Heartbeat of the dance,

Sings only her love

Of an undiscovered verdant world.

Under a moonless night,

She remembers the cold. Her song warms the earth, And her dance begins anew, Celebrating the return.

But none shall ever sing so purely As the newborn spring.

Forever after, her dance is tempered By foreknowledge of winter's return.

I LEFT SMUDGE BEHIND with Jeff and Nidhi. Without his cage, I didn't trust him on the back of a motorcycle. I waited while Lena strapped her spare helmet over my head, then climbed onto the back of the bike. I tucked the bottom of my jacket between us to keep it from getting caught in the wheels.

"Hold tight," she said, and then we were darting onto the road.

I felt her laughter as she wove through traffic. On another day, I might have shared it. Lena had the irrepressible ability to not only find joy in life, but to express it without fear or self-consciousness. She loved without fear. It was one of the things that made me crazy about her.

But even as I clung to her waist, feeling her body pressed against mine, breathing in the woodsy smell of her hair, I couldn't stop thinking about August Harrison. About how casually he had threatened to murder innocent people. About the anger I had seen when he murdered that wendigo in Tamarack. About his willingness to transform human beings into monsters, using techniques I had developed.

Where had he found his would-be wendigos? Were these allies who had volunteered to be transformed, or were they more victims? They had dragged the unconscious bodies away, leaving nobody who could answer those questions.

The magic in Harrison's two pelts wouldn't last forever. The rat had reverted to normal after three days, though that had been a smaller sample of skin, one which had been preserved for years before use. We didn't know how long the magic of a fresh skin might endure.

I kept an eye out for insects, but either Harrison hadn't noticed Lena's bike, or else I had stung him too badly when I swatted his last batch.

Another possibility taunted me. Maybe this was what Harrison wanted. He had tried to get the two of us to surrender back in Columbus, and here we were, speeding down the highway to find him. Victor had been a genius. I couldn't afford to underestimate his father.

The GPS led us to a small Baptist church. Scorch marks covered the parking lot. Streaks of black rubber showed where someone had swerved around a car parked by the main entrance. The van was here, having smashed into a basketball hoop on the far side of the lot. Tire tracks on the grass suggested the truck had kept going into the field behind the church, where a row of pine trees stood like a living fence.

Lena parked her bike on the side of the road. I tugged my helmet off with one hand and clipped it to her bike. As we approached, I heard shouts from the field.

"Oh, shit." Lena took off running toward the front door. A body lay slumped against the brick wall, half hidden by the bushes alongside the walk. Lena pushed the bushes aside, and from the way the urgency drained from her movements, I knew we were too late.

Sharp claws had opened the woman's throat and shoulder. Her eyes were wide. Blood dribbled from the wounds, soaking into the gravel. Whoever she was, she didn't look like she could have presented a threat. Thick glasses, a close-permed frizz of brown hair, and a round face gave her a vaguely jovial appearance, even in death. She had died clutching her purse to her chest. I knelt and opened her purse.

"What are you doing?" Lena whispered.

"I'm not sure." I just wanted to know her name. This murder struck harder than the others. Maybe the still-warm body just felt more real than vampires who turned to dust or ash, or the wendigos who had been hacked apart until they were nothing but meat. Or maybe it was my own human prejudices, the idea that a human death meant more than the others. After all, wasn't I the one who had experimented with old wendigo hide like it was nothing more than a toy?

I pulled out a leather wallet.